


I Might Grow Out of It

by fourthingsandawizard



Series: Galaxies and Greenhouses AU [8]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Closeted Character, Coming of Age, Discovery of Sexuality, Family Relationships - Freeform, Galaxies and Greenhouses, Gen, Hogwarts AU, Hufflepuff Dan, PFF Bingo, Phan - Freeform, Phandom Fic Fest Bingo, Phanfiction, Plantboy Phil, Prequel, Punk Phil, Secrets, Sexuality Crisis, Teenage Rebellion, Wizard Dan, Youtuber Dan, phan if you squint, phandom fic fest, phanfic, platonic?, ravenclaw phil, sibling relationships, wizard Phil, youtuber Phil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-01-04 05:49:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21192587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourthingsandawizard/pseuds/fourthingsandawizard
Summary: Discovering you're somehow different from the rest of your family can be difficult; realizing you're even more different than you originally thought can be devastating. All the magic in the world can't help Phil 'grow out of it,' but embracing those differences may just help him realize how magical he really is.Written for the@phandomficfests2019 Bingo to (eventually) fill the prompts: writer's choice (magic au), sibling relationships, symbolism, missed train, motion sickness, rejections, tatinof, secret admirers, and Vegas.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chaptered fic is a prequel that takes place in the Dan and Phil Hogwarts/Modern Day Wizards AU established in my previous chaptered fic Galaxies and Greenhouses, which should probably be read before reading this fic, but isn't absolutely necessary, as the events of this story take place (mostly) before those of the original story. 
> 
> This fic was originally started for Phandom Fic Fest Bingo 2019, but quickly grew to be a lot bigger than I first envisioned... When the fic is finished, it will eventually span NINE separate squares from my bingo card. In order to fully flesh this story out the way I would like, though, I can't post the entire fic before the end of the fic fest and will instead post chapters as I finish them!

"Mummy, why does Martyn hate me now?"

Mrs. Lester glanced over her shoulder to where her youngest son had walked into the kitchen before quickly turning her attention back to the vegetables she was guiding into a pot with her wand. "Philip, love, don't be silly. Your brother doesn't hate you."

Phil frowned, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the kitchen tile. "But I was just talking to Cynthia, and—”

"Darling, who is Cynthia?" his mother cut in as she flicked her wand and set the water boiling on the stove. 

"Mum, I told you last week, she's the Puffapod plant in the back garden! Don't you remember?" Phil answered with a twinge of frustration. 

"Oh, of course she is, sweetheart! How could I possibly forget?" his mother replied, checking on another pot. "Now, you were talking to Cynthia, and…"

"All the older neighborhood kids made fun of me for talking to her! I was just trying to help her grow, I read that talking to plants helps them!" Phil continued, sniffling a little. "Mar was with them, and I asked him to make them stop, but he just laughed at me, too... And then one of the older boys told him he should p-push me in the dirt, and Martyn d-did it!"

Hearing his tear-laden voice, Mrs. Lester finally turned away from her cooking to fully look at her son, finding the eight-year-old covered in patches of dirt and grass stains. He was half-heartedly attempting to swipe at his face with his filthy sleeve, doing more harm than good. 

"Aww, come here, little duckling," she cooed, grabbing a rag off the counter as she made her way around the kitchen island. She dropped to one knee in front of the quietly whimpering boy, wiping a streak of dirt from his chin. "Not much use in crying over a spilt potion, now, is there?"

"But I d-don't understand…" Phil attempted to swallow down his sobs while his mother pulled a stray blade of grass from his hair. "Martyn has always been my best friend, why does he hate me now?"

His mother's brow creased, and she abandoned her attempt to clean up her son, deciding it could wait until his bath.

"Well, ducky, he's going about handling it in _all_ the wrong way, but it sounds to me like your brother is nervous."

"Nervous?" Phil repeated as his mother stroked his hair, not quite able to connect the dots for himself. "He pushed me in the dirt because he's _nervous?_"

A pot began bubbling over on the stove, and his mother jumped to her feet, wand at the ready. 

"I know it doesn't make much sense to you now, but your brother is off to Hogwarts in just a couple weeks," she said, getting dinner back under control, "and it sounds to me like he's trying to fit in with some of the older kids before he leaves. Mind, that absolutely does _not_ give him an excuse to hurt you in the process," she added with a look over her shoulder in Phil's direction, "and I’ll be having a nice chat with him when he gets home after dinner this evening…"

"Don't tell him I cried!" Phil interrupted, leading his mother to whip around to face him in surprise. "He'll tell all the other kids and then I'll be Martyn's crybaby little brother forever!"

Mrs. Lester sighed, letting her shoulders rise and fall with her breath. "I won't mention it."

Phil, unconvinced, thrust one hand forward toward her. "Pinky promise?"

She smiled, but quickly schooled her face into a more serious expression before locking her pinky with her son's much smaller one. 

Relief flooded his still-dirty face, a little bit of tension dropping out of his small shoulders. 

"Now, since you're here already," she said, turning back to the stove, "why don't you wash up and help me set the table for dinner?"

"Aww, Mum!" Phil whined with an accompanying pout. "Can't you just use magic to do it?"

She simply raised an eyebrow in response, although that alone was more than enough to send her youngest trudging across the kitchen to wash his hands. 

"Under the fingernails, too, Philip," she added, "I know how dirty they get in the garden."

Phil sighed dramatically, but then continued washing up before grabbing plates and cutlery and getting to work. 

For a few moments, the kitchen was silent save for dinner bubbling away and the occasional sound of Phil setting something down at the table, but he still had something on his mind. 

"Mum? If Martyn is nervous about starting Hogwarts...should I be nervous, too?"

“What’s there to be nervous about going to Hogwarts for?” Mr. Lester exclaimed loudly from the kitchen doorway, startling them both. “Best time of my life!” 

He snuck a small pinch of the cake intended for dessert as he passed the counter, only to be met with a disapproving look from his wife, and he gave a sheepish grin in return. 

“Was it really?” Phil asked skeptically as he put down the last plate at the table. 

“You bet!” his father answered. “The food was incredible, classes were fun, and I’ve never felt more alive than when I was out on the Quidditch pitch, helping to lead Ravenclaw to victory!”

Mrs. Lester crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow at her husband. “Oh, really? _Those_ are the memories that made Hogwarts the ‘best time of your life?’”

His eyes went wide. “Of course not, no!” he attempted to backpedal. “All of those memories simply _pale_ in comparison to the many hours spent studying with you in the common room, my dear!” He pulled her in for a hug, kissing the top of her head for good measure. 

“Oh, hush, you,” she laughed, smacking his arm lightly.

Phil quietly slipped past his parents for a glass of water as they laughed, but on his way back to the table, his father slid an arm around his shoulder, pulling Phil into his side. 

“Ah, Philip, I can’t wait for you to see Ravenclaw Tower,” he reminisced as Phil squirmed and tried to get away. “From way up there in the sky, it’s the—”

“—best view of the entire grounds,” Phil quoted along with his father as he finally slipped out of his grasp without spilling his water, heading for the dinner table. “I know, Dad, you’ve only been telling me my entire life.” 

“I swear it still feels like just yesterday we were there,” his father continued, seemingly oblivious to his son’s tone of voice. “But now Martyn’s nearly gone, and you’ll be right behind him in a couple years… Soon enough we’ll have two full grown wizards running around here wreaking havoc!” 

“Now, you just hold your hippogriffs, mister!” Mrs. Lester exclaimed as she walked over to join them, a parade of pans and serving dishes floating along behind her and gliding gracefully onto the table. “You let my babies stay babies for as long as they can!” 

She gently ran a hand through Phil’s hair as she walked around the table and slid into her own seat, her napkin unfolding itself and dropping across her lap with a flick of her wand. 

As they started eating, Phil feared his father would loop back around to his Ravenclaw reminiscence, something he had always been fond of, but had only intensified ever since Martyn had received his Hogwarts acceptance letter a few months earlier. 

However, to Phil’s relief, the discussion swiftly changed as his father began regaling his mother with a bit of gossip that had been making its way around his office at the Ministry that day. Phil managed to get through dinner without even having to contribute much to the conversation, and soon enough his mother was sending him upstairs for his bath before bed. 

He had made it about halfway up the staircase when he heard his name mentioned from where his parents were still talking quietly in the kitchen. He debated for a moment, his foot hovering over the next step, but in the end he couldn’t resist; he silently snuck back down and stopped next to the kitchen doorway, just out of view. 

“I just don’t understand what you’re upset about,” he heard his father say over the sound of dishes clinking together as his parents cleared the table. 

“I’m not upset,” his mother insisted, “just...worried.”

“Worried?”

His mother sighed. “I’m worried that you’re going about counting your dragons before they’ve hatched with all this Ravenclaw business, and that you might be putting too much pressure on the boys, especially Phil.”

Phil’s eyebrows furrowed. He was having just as much trouble following along as his father apparently was. 

“How so?”

“Well… Call it mother’s intuition, maybe, but I have this suspicion that Philip may _not_ be sorted into Ravenclaw when he gets to school.”

Phil suddenly felt his as if his whole world had flipped upside down, and he waited with bated breath for his father to jump to his defense. 

The moment never came, though. He heard his father draw in a deep breath and then blow it out slowly as the dishes continued washing themselves in the sink. 

“No, you’re right,” he finally said, “lately, I've been starting to think the same.”

Phil felt tears prick behind his eyes and decided that he didn’t want to stick around the hear the rest, rushing up the stairs as quickly and quietly as possible to take his bath and get ready for bed. 

He had just brushed his teeth and slipped beneath the covers of the bottom bunk when he heard stomping footsteps coming up the stairs. The bedroom door swung open to reveal his obviously irritated brother, and Phil quickly tried to pretend he was already asleep, but Martyn wasn’t having any of it. 

“Thanks a lot for tattling to Mum, Phil,” he shout-whispered so as not to draw attention from their parents as he shut the door behind him. “I’m grounded practically until I leave for Hogwarts, now.” 

Phil pulled the duvet up to his nose, wincing a little as Martyn yanked his shoes off and tossed them across the room with a little too much force. 

“I didn’t mean to,” Phil said quietly as Martyn changed into his pajamas, “it just kind of all slipped out.” 

“Yeah, whatever,” Martyn muttered, climbing up the ladder up to the top bunk. “I can’t _wait_ until I’m at school all by myself in a few weeks.” 

Phil shifted onto his back, staring up at the bottom of Martyn’s bunk above him in the dark. 

“Martyn? Can I ask you a question?”

Martyn groaned. “Dibs, for the hundredth time, I don’t _know_ why the moon is round.” 

“That’s not what I was gonna ask!”

“Okay, fine,” Martyn said, and Phil heard him turning over to get more comfortable. “What’s your question?”

Phil chewed on his lip for a moment, debating whether he wanted to go on, but finally asked quietly, “Will you miss me even a little bit when you leave?” 

Martyn sighed deeply. There was a lot of shifting above Phil, and suddenly Martyn’s head was hanging down over the side of his bunk. 

“Phil. Of _course_ I’m gonna miss you. What are you on about?”

Phil shrugged. “I mean, you pushed me in the dirt and laughed. And we've barely spent any time together this summer. Doesn’t exactly sound like you care.” 

Martyn groaned, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the bed frame. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out, “I don’t even really know why I did that.” 

Phil sat up, pulling his knees to his chest under the blankets. “Mum reckons you’re nervous about starting school.”

Martyn huffed out a humorless laugh, lifting himself back up into his bed. “I reckon she might be right.” 

“What do you have to be nervous about? You’re, like, the coolest kid I know.” 

This time Martyn’s laugh sounded more genuine. “Thanks, Dibs, but this is kind of different, y’know? A lot of older kids, pressure to do well from Mum and Dad, it’s...it’s a lot.” 

Phil rested his cheek against his knees, staring out into the semi-darkness of their room.

"I’m scared of being sorted,” he admitted in a whisper, half hoping his brother wouldn’t hear him. 

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know,” Phil answered, falling back against his pillow again. “I guess I don’t feel like I’m smart enough for Ravenclaw, so I’ll end up in some other house and Mum and Dad’ll disown me, so I’ll end up having to, like, live in a ditch somewhere, and—”

“Phil, slow down!” Martyn exclaimed, cutting off Phil’s anxious ramble. “They’re not gonna _disown_ you just for not getting Ravenclaw, Merlin’s sake!”

Phil sucked in a choppy breath. “They’re not?”

“Of course not, dufus, they love us no matter what, or whatever. Besides, there’s more to Ravenclaw than just being _smart_, have you ever even listened to Dad’s stories? It’s also for people who are creative, and curious—”

“I can be curious!” Phil enthused with a newfound sense of hope. 

“Oh, don’t worry, you’re definitely _curious_, that’s for sure.” Martyn snorted from above him. 

“Hey! Brother abuse!"

"Phil, you're basically the definition of 'curious.' You ate fish food for, like, three months last year."

"Only because Gran said I was part fish!"

Marytn let out a loud laugh. "She didn't mean literally!"

"I thought it would give me fish superpowers!" Phil pouted.

"You're a wizard! You need more superpowers than _that_?"

"You’re the worst person in the world, you know that?” Phil whined. 

“Yeah, yeah. Love you, too, Dibs.” 

Phil huffed, turning on his side and hugging his pillow. The room sat in silence for a minute or two, but something was still nagging at Phil. 

“Seriously, though, Mar. Do you think I’ll be in Ravenclaw when I get there?”

Martyn was quiet for a moment, but finally answered. “You want my absolute honest opinion? And you promise won’t get mad?”

Phil nodded before realizing Martyn couldn’t see him from the top bunk. “Yes, please.” 

He heard his brother take a deep breath. “Honestly, Phil... I don’t think so.”

Phil instantly deflated. “Oh.”

“It’s just, you give off some _major_ Hufflepuff vibes, if you ask me. I can’t really imagine you anywhere else… Not that that’s a bad thing!” Martyn scrambled to add. 

“Yeah, sure,” Phil mumbled, pressing his face into his pillow, “being completely different from the entire rest of your family is just totally ace, I’m well excited.” 

“Phil, I—”

“No, Mar, it’s okay, I asked you to tell me the truth,” Phil said, discreetly wiping away a tear. “I don’t really want to talk about it anymore tonight, though, I want to go to sleep now. Night, Mar.”

“Okay… Night.” 

Phil could practically hear the frown in his brother’s voice, but he ignored it, pulling his pillow closer and trying to swallow around the lump in his throat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the lovely t_hens for beta reading this one for me when I was worried I rambled on too much when this chapter hit 5k!

Phil’s eyes wandered up and down the platform in awe, not quite sure what to focus on. Steam poured out of the scarlett engine a bit further down the tracks, and everywhere he looked, kids were hugging their families or waving goodbye as they made their way onto the train. 

He was watching another first year struggle to carry their pet owl’s cage, which was almost half as tall as they were, when Phil suddenly jumped at the feeling of hands touching his hair from behind. 

“Mum!” he exclaimed, whipping around in embarrassment. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, Philip, you have awful bed head! Did you even _try_ to comb it this morning?” his mother replied, licking her thumb and attempting to smooth down a stubborn cowlick. Phil did his best to lean away where she couldn’t reach him, feeling as if every pair of eyes on the platform was surely watching and he would be forever branded as the weird kid before he even made it onto the train. 

“Kath, let the boy be,” his dad chuckled, wrapping an arm around his wife’s shoulders to pull her into his side, giving Phil a chance to escape her grasp. “He’s just gonna mess it up again in a few hours when he puts his robes on anyway, and you won’t be there to fix it then.” 

At the reminder of their impending separation, his mother’s bottom lip started quivering and her eyes went a little glossy. 

“Merlin’s sake, not again,” Martyn muttered with an accompanying eye roll. “Where were all these tears when you put _me_ on the train for the first time, huh?”

“It’s different,” she replied, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue she had pulled from her purse, “the house will be empty now, and besides, he’s my baby!”

“I’m not a _baby_,” Phil insisted, crossing his arms over his chest, “I’m _eleven_.”

Martyn snorted. “Still sound like a baby to me.” 

Phil smirked as their mother fixed Martyn with a look that had the laughter almost instantly fading from his face. 

“You promise me right now, young man,” she said, wagging a finger, “that you’re going to look after your little brother at school.” 

Martyn groaned, his head falling back dramatically. 

“I mean it!” their mother continued. “You help him with his homework when he needs it, and you teach him how to get around the castle!"

"Oh, and make sure he can solve the riddle and get into the common room every night before bed," their father added. 

Phil bristled a bit at the implication that he would surely be sorted into Ravenclaw just like his brother, no question. He stared at his shoes, hoping he would somehow just fade into the station wall before his family sensed his nerves over the Sorting Ceremony that loomed closer and closer every minute. 

“Alright, fine,” Martyn relented, hiking his backpack strap up higher on his shoulder, “I’ll make sure he gets settled in okay at school, but we’ve really gotta go before we miss the train.”

As if on cue, the steam engine let out a bellowing whistle, letting everyone remaining on the platform know that it was nearly 11:00. 

“C’mon, Dibs, time to go,” Martyn said, nodding at Phil’s bag where it sat on the ground at his feet. 

Phil grabbed his bag and slipped an arm through a strap, and as Martyn gave their mother a quick hug, Phil suddenly felt his father slip something into one of his front pockets. Phil looked up, brows furrowed, and saw his father grinning back at him fondly. 

“It’s a few extra Galleons,” he explained quietly. 

Phil reached into his pocket and, sure enough, felt three small metal coins brush his fingers. 

“Grab yourself a few extra sweets from the trolley, eh?” his father continued with a wink, gripping his youngest son by the shoulder and pulling him in for a one-armed hug. “Just don’t tell your mother.” 

Phil nodded enthusiastically, and his father released him just as his mother was finishing her goodbyes with Martyn and turning around to face Phil. 

“Child,” she practically cooed, opening her arms for a hug. 

All of a sudden, Phil was hit with the realization that he was really leaving, that he wouldn’t see his mother again until Christmas. Sure, he’d have Martyn nearby, but for the next three months, he would have to go without his mother making him breakfast in the mornings, or kissing his cheek goodnight before bed, or even squawking at him to clean up his socks. 

Phil felt tears welling behind his eyes and rushed into his mother’s arms, burying his face in her shoulder. She rubbed soothing circles across his back just as she always did, rocking him back and forth for a moment before gently pulling away to look at him. He sniffled, and she smiled fondly at him. 

“There, there, little duckling,” she whispered, “you’ll be having so much fun, you’ll forget all about me in a week’s time.” 

Phil shook his head vehemently. “Never,” he insisted. 

She bit her lip, bopping him lightly on the nose with her pointer finger and earning a tongue-poking-out smile from her youngest in return. 

Her oldest, however, was getting impatient. 

“Mum, we _have_ to go now.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” their father chuckled as their mother stepped back so Phil could join Martyn, “get gone with ‘ya already! Your mother can’t whinge about missing you until you actually leave.”

“Oh, you wicked man!” She smacked his arm lightly, her smile betraying her, as the boys started across the platform. “Oh, and Philip,” she called after him, “don’t forget to write us soon and tell us all about your sorting!” 

Phil inwardly grimaced, but shot a smile and a thumbs up over his shoulder to his parents before following his brother up the steps and onto the train. 

Once inside, they were met with a long corridor full of students bustling in and out of compartments, greeting friends they hadn’t seen all summer and loudly chattering away. Phil immediately felt overwhelmed and completely out of his depth, and was relieved to at least have his older brother by his side to ease him into the new situation. 

“Alright, see ‘ya at Hogwarts, Dibs,” Martyn suddenly said, turning to walk away. “Careful getting in the first year boats that you don’t fall in the lake and show up to sorting soaking wet, eh?”

Phil’s eyes went wide in disbelief. “Wait! Martyn!” he called out desperately, latching onto his brother’s elbow before he could make it very far. “Are you seriously just leaving me?”

Martyn pried Phil’s fingers from his arm. “Yup. Time to spread your wings and fly, little bro.” 

“But Mum said—”

“Mum’s not here, Phil,” Martyn said, laying a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder. “Look, I didn’t have anyone helping me on my first day, I had to figure it out on my own, and I’m all the better for it.” 

Phil closed his eyes, letting out a sharp breath before reluctantly nodding. 

“That’s the spirit, Dibs!” Martyn spun Phil around by the shoulders, lightly pushing him down the corridor. 

He had only made it a few hesitant steps when he heard Martyn call out his name, and when he glanced back, his older brother had a teasing smirk on his face. 

“Make sure you wave at me from all the way over at the Hufflepuff table after you get sorted tonight, yeah?”

Phil rolled his eyes, shouldering past a group of older girls who were huddled together, gossiping about some couple that had apparently broken up over the summer holidays. 

For several agonizing minutes, Phil made his way down the corridor, glancing into compartments in hopes of finding a friendly-looking face or an empty seat with some other first years, but was instead met with group after group of older, intimidating kids. 

Eventually he made it to the end of the long hallway, so he slid open the door and slipped into the next train car. This one seemed much quieter, and although the first few compartments were just as full as the ones in the other car, he did see a sweet-looking older witch up ahead pushing a trolley full of even sweeter-looking treats. 

Deciding he deserved something sugary after the last few harrowing minutes, Phil reached into his pocket for the money his father had given him, trudging ahead to where the trolley was stopped outside a compartment and the older witch was helping a curly haired boy. 

“I’ll take a couple Licorice Wands, thanks,” the boy said, handing over a few coins and taking the candy that she was holding out to him. “Chris, did you want anything?” he called over his shoulder. 

“Chocolate Frog, please!” a voice answered from inside the compartment, and the curly haired boy fished in his pocket for another coin, exchanging it for the sweet. 

“Anything for you, dear?” the witch asked Phil, calling attention to the fact that he had just been standing there watching their interaction the entire time. Phil felt his face flush a bit and immediately redirected his gaze to the spread of candy in front of him. 

“Erm, I guess I’ll take some Bertie Botts, and a pack of Drooble's. And a Pumpkin Pasty. Oh, and a Chocolate frog,” Phil said, his ears feeling warm knowing the other boy was watching a probably judging him for his massive sweet tooth. 

However, when Phil dared to glance up as the witch was counting out his change, he saw that the boy was smiling at him warmly. The corners of Phil’s own lips twitched upwards as he slipped his change in his pocket, clumsily gathering his purchases into his hands so the witch could continue on to the next compartment. 

“Have a lovely school year, boys!” she called as she made her way down the corridor.

Watching her leave, Phil began to feel awkwardly out of place again as he realized that he still had nowhere to go and the other boy’s eyes were definitely still trained on him. 

The boy looked him up and down in consideration, taking a bite out of his Licorice Wand. “Are you a first year?”

Phil gulped at being directly addressed, hoping the sound wasn’t as audible in the tiny corridor as it had sounded to him. He nodded hesitantly, and the other boy’s face lit up with a smile. 

“Me, too!” he said, thrusting out an arm for a handshake. “My name’s PJ.”

“Er, Phil. Hi,” Phil responded, shuffling around the sweets he was holding so he could return the gesture. 

“Well, Phil,” PJ said, shaking Phil’s hand a little too vigorously for his liking, “we have plenty of room in our compartment, if you’d like to join us.” 

Phil felt a sense of unparalleled relief and gratitude wash over him and he enthusiastically nodded his agreement, shoving his candy into his backpack and following PJ through the small sliding door. 

“Chris, Phil. Phil, Chris,” PJ quickly introduced them before flopping down onto his seat and tossing the Chocolate Frog to the other boy in the compartment. 

Chris, who had been spread out across the opposite seat cushion, immediately sat up to catch the small box. He nodded briefly at Phil before tearing into the wrappings, ignoring the chocolate and going straight for the card behind it. 

Phil gingerly sat down in the spot PJ had left open for him and placed his backpack on his lap, purposefully trying to take up as little space as possible.

“Now, Christopher, is that any way to greet our guest? You hardly even acknowledged Phil, here,” PJ chided, one eyebrow raised. “Be a good lad and give him a proper hello so he feels welcome!”

Chris glanced up in surprise and his frog took advantage of his loosened grip to pull out of his grasp and hop onto the seat cushion next to him. Chris rolled his eyes at PJ before extending a hand across the small space between their seats, which Phil hesitantly grasped. 

“Philip, how _do_ you do, my good sir? It’s a great honor and a privilege to make your acquaintance on this fine, fine day!” Chris animatedly greeted him, sarcasm practically dripping from every word as he shook Phil’s arm so hard he feared it might dislocate. 

“Alright,_Mum_, happy now?” Chris asked, shooting a glare at PJ as he dropped Phil’s hand and relaxed back against his seat again.

“Absolutely chuffed,” PJ responded with a smirk, “now be a proper gentleman and get your dirty shoes off the cushions.” 

“Oi, shove off, Peej!” Chris laughed, crumpling up the wrappings from his sweet and tossing them across the compartment toward PJ’s head. 

Phil watched them playfully banter back and forth as he carefully opened his own Chocolate Frog. “So, I guess you guys have known each other for a long time, then?”

PJ and Chris both turned to look at him, smiles stretched across their faces. 

“Nope, just met about half an hour ago on the platform,” PJ corrected as Chris looked around for where his frog had gotten to, seeming to deem it a lost cause when he saw it hopping across the surely dirty floor of the train car. 

Phil’s eyebrows raised in surprise, as he had assumed they had been best friends for probably years given the ease with which they teased each other, but he had to admit he felt like a bit less of a third wheel knowing they were on a much more even footing than he anticipated. 

He took a bite of his chocolate, but felt his stomach suddenly lurch as the train started picking up more speed as they made their way away from London. 

“Alright, Phil?” Chris asked. “You’ve gone a bit green.”

Phil nodded, taking a steadying breath. “Just a bit motion sick.”

“Oh, I know a spell that can help with that!” PJ exclaimed, already reaching for his wand before Phil could so much as reply. “My dad uses it to help my mum all the time. ‘Course, she’d still rather a cuppa, but that’s just ‘cause she’s a Muggle, and old habits die hard, I guess.” 

Phil gulped at the sight of the wand gripped in PJ’s hand. “Actually, you know what? I think it’s already passed, I feel much better!”

PJ frowned. “You don’t _look_ better…”

Thankfully, Chris jumped to Phil’s rescue. “Peej, I think what Phil is probably just too nice to admit is that he doesn’t want an untrained eleven-year-old trying out a spell for the first time on him, right, Phil?” 

Phil nodded and smiled sympathetically at PJ, but grimaced as he felt his stomach roll again. 

“What you really need, Philip, is a _distraction_,” Chris said, scooting across his seat so he was sitting directly across from Phil. “Have you checked out your Chocolate Frog card yet?” 

Phil shook his head. He looked down at the sweet he had dropped unceremoniously in his lap and carefully extracted the card from inside, the wizard printed on it smiling up at him. 

“Who’d you get?” Chris asked, his own card already in his hands. 

“‘Devlin Whitehorn,’” Phil read aloud, “‘born 1945, founder of the Nimbus racing broom company.’”

“No way! That’s an awesome one, I need one of him!”

Phil nodded toward Chris’ card. “Who’s on yours?”

“Ignatia Wildsmith,” Chris replied, briefly flashing the card so Phil could see the witch featured on it before turning it back around to read. ‘“‘Born 1227, died 1320, prominent Ravenclaw inventor and creator of Floo Powder.’”

“Not a fan?” PJ asked, noticing the disappointment on Chris’ face. 

“Nah, she’s well important, I just have two of her already.”

“D’you wanna trade?” Phil asked, waving his Whitehorn card. “I’m not a huge fan of broomsticks, you know, with the whole motion sickness thing. But I _do_ have a collection of important Ravenclaw witches and wizards…”

Chris nodded enthusiastically, practically throwing his card at Phil in his haste to switch and quickly rereading the broom maker’s details for himself. Phil did the same with his new card, albeit much less frantically, his finger gently tracing over the letters of “Ravenclaw” written in her description. 

“So, you like Ravenclaw?” PJ asked. “Reckon you’ll be sorted there?”

Phil couldn’t help the frown that took over his face, but he quickly schooled his expression into something he hoped was a little more positive. “I mean, most of my family has been for as long as anyone can remember, centuries even. So I hope I am, too!”

PJ considered his answer for a moment, taking another bite of his Licorice Wand. “But do you really _want_ to be in Ravenclaw? Or do you just want it because your whole family has been?” he asked casually, punctuating his question by pointing at Phil with the licorice. 

Phil gulped, eyes widening at being so quickly sized up by this boy he had literally just met. 

“PJ, Merlin’s sake, don’t send him spiraling before we even get to school,” Chris stepped in, once again seemingly sensing Phil’s discomfort. “If he wants to be in Ravenclaw, then he wants to be in Ravenclaw, and the hat will take that into account.” 

Phil whipped around to look at Chris, motion sickness be damned. 

“It’ll _what_?”

Chris shrank back an inch or so at Phil’s sudden movement and intensity. “The Sorting Hat’ll take your choice into account if you want before it decides where to place you. Did you not know?”

Phil shook his head, feeling like the earth was shifting underneath his feet even more so than it already was from riding on the train. 

“So you’re telling me that you can just _ask_ it to put you in a certain house and it _will_?”

“I mean, I don’t think you can just pick any random house from way out on the left of the Quidditch pitch, I think you probably have to at least have _some_ of that house’s attributes… But I guess nothing can really stop you from at least _trying_.” Chris stretched back out, feet up in the seat again and arms folded behind his head. “For example, I plan on asking to be in Slytherin purely just to see the look on me mum’s face if I make it in.” 

PJ snickered along with Chris, but Phil was too distracted, his mind positively reeling; he could just _ask_ to be in Ravenclaw? Was it really that easy?

“What about you, PJ?” Chris asked, startling Phil out of his own head. “Any idea where you’ll end up?”

“Probably Ravenclaw,” PJ replied. “My dad is a bit of an inventor and super into experimental magic, which he definitely passed on to me. He was in Ravenclaw, so I imagine that’s where I’ll probably end up, too.” 

That led them to a discussion of some of the craziest things PJ and his dad had worked on together, which was a welcome distraction from the anxiety about being sorted that had been plaguing Phil for weeks. Maybe even for years, any time he had realized he was noticeably different from the rest of his family in some way or another. 

In fact, talking with PJ and Chris had Phil so distracted that he hardly noticed when the train came to a stop outside Hogsmeade and the first years were ushered into the boats that would take them across the lake. 

As the boat got closer and closer to the looming castle up ahead, Phil’s nerves came back in full force, and before he knew it, they were standing in the Great Hall and the first years were slowly being called up one by one in alphabetical order. 

“Christopher Kendall.”

“Well, guess I’ll see ‘ya on the other side, boys,” Chris muttered, giving Phil and PJ a mock salute before making his way through the crowd of other first years and up onto the platform to sit on the small stool. The Sorting Hat was placed on his head, and Phil was fully prepared for the hat to immediately send Chris off to Slytherin as he had teased on the train. 

Instead, the hat and thus the entire Great Hall remained silent for nearly a minute; the only indication that anything was happening at all was the occasional movement from the Sorting Hat and the range of expressions flitting across Chris’ face as he silently communicated with the hat through Legilimency. 

Just as everyone watching started to get restless and the students seated with their houses began whispering about the possibility of a hatstall, Chris shrugged his shoulders, apparently agreeing with whatever decision the hat had come to. 

The brim of the hat once again split open to form its mouth and bellow out, “Gryffindor!” which was met with a cacophony of cheers from Chris’ new housemates as the hat was lifted from his head and he made his way to their table. 

Phil felt a cold chill sweep through his body in spite of his warm new robes at the realization that Chris had still ended up in the house that the _hat_ had felt was best, and that in a few short minutes, the same would likely happen to Phil, cursing him to forever be the odd one out in his family. 

He could feel his brother’s gaze on him from his seat at the Ravenclaw table, and he worked extra hard to keep his breathing under control, but even still, he hardly noticed as Poppy Kent and Thomas Lambert were called up and sorted into Slytherin and Gryffindor respectively. Suddenly, PJ was elbowing him and nodding toward the front of the room, and Phil belatedly realized that every pair of eyes in the Great Hall was fixed on him: he had missed his own name being called. 

Phil took a deep breath and starting moving, receiving an encouraging smile and a pat on the arm from PJ as he passed. His feet somehow managed not to trip over themselves or his robes as he made it up the steps and clambered onto the stool, and almost as soon as he was seated, the ratty old hat was placed on top of his head. 

“Well, now, what do we have here?”

Phil jumped a bit at the voice, startled at hearing the words not through his ears, but in his head. His eyes involuntarily strayed upwards to stare at the brim of the hat, as if looking at it would somehow make the sensation feel less strange. 

“Well, there’s certainly a few to rule out from the get-go, eh?” the Sorting Hat continued, ignoring Phil’s discomfort. “Pure magic lineage as far as the eye can see, but there’s not a cunning or recklessly courageous bone in that body, now is there? No, Syltherin or Gryffindor would not be the right fit for you.”

Phil’s mouth went drier than he could ever remember it feeling, and his fingers gripped so tightly onto the edge of the wooden stool beneath him, he would be surprised if he didn’t have a few splinters later. 

“Now, these last two are a bit more challenging to parse out… I see boundless creativity and a deep desire to learn and understand how the world works, but perhaps even moreso, a generous, loyal heart and a true friend of the world… Of course, you could excel in either, but which will I put you in, eh?”

Phil desperately clung to the hope that what Chris had said about asking the hat to place him where he wanted was true, and decided to take a risk. 

“_Please, please, please, put me in Ravenclaw!_” Phil thought as hard as he could, hoping the Sorting Hat could hear him. “_You said yourself that I’d do well there; please let me be Ravenclaw, I don’t want to be in Hufflepuff!”_

“Something against Hufflepuff, I see,” the hat responded, and Phil felt his eyes drawn to the table of students bearing golden ties. 

“_No! Nothing against Hufflepuff, I think they’re great!_” Phil insisted, still vaguely aware of the hat shifting through his mind for answers, although it felt much less intrusive than when he first sat down. “_I just… I just really want to be in Ravenclaw, like my brother. Like my whole family, really.”_

“You know, that fierce loyalty to your family is the main reason I suggested Hufflepuff in the first place, but…” 

Phil closed his eyes as he felt the hat start moving on top of his head, sure that he knew what it would say and preparing himself for the knowing smirk he was sure to get from his brother. 

“Ravenclaw!”

Phil’s eyes shot open in surprise as he felt the hat lifted from his head and heard a roaring cheer from the Ravenclaw table. His auto-pilot must have kicked on, as he somehow managed to stumble his way into an empty seat, an older student next to him clapping him none too gently on the back in welcome. 

As the cheers died down and attention shifted back to the next student to be sorted, Phil dared a glance down the long table in his brother's direction. 

Martyn met his gaze, head cocked to the side and eyes squinted a bit, as if accessing Phil. Hands grasping at the folds of his robes beneath the table, Phil could feel the beads of sweat starting to form at his brow underneath his brother's scrutiny. 

Before he knew it, though, Martyn was shooting him a lopsided grin and an approving nod. Relief cascaded over Phil, just as another loud roar erupted from the new housemates sitting around him. 

"Fancy seeing you here," a voice said from Phil's left. He looked over to see PJ plopping down into the seat next to him, smiling brightly. 

"Guess you're stuck with me for the next seven years, eh?" the curly-haired boy laughed, and Phil couldn't have stopped his answering grin from stretching across his own face if he had tried. 

Still, as the feast commenced and everyone around him dug in, he couldn't help the nagging voice at the back of his head, reminding him that he didn't really, _truly_ belong there, that he had swayed the hat's decision in a direction he shouldn't have. 

His eyes strayed involuntarily to the bright yellow ties and smiling faces of the Hufflepuff table as he dragged his fork around his plate, trying to make it look like he had eaten more than he actually had. 

After their plates were magically cleared—PJ having eaten most of Phil's treacle tart when he couldn't finish it himself—the first years were asked to stay behind to be escorted to their dormitories by their house prefects to make sure they didn't get lost in the sprawling castle along the way.

As they waited for the Great Hall to clear out a bit, PJ nudged Phil with his elbow. Phil's eyes shot up from staring at his shoes where they were peeking out of his slightly-too-long new robes to see PJ nodding at something across the hall. 

Phil followed his gaze to find Chris, waving and blowing them kisses as he made his way out of the hall with the other new Gryffindors, only to receive a disapproving look from a Gryffindor prefect that had PJ and Phil stifling laughs into the sleeves of their robes. 

"Alright, first years," an older girl with a blue and bronze tie said from behind them, clapping a couple times to get everyone's attention, "if you'll form a line behind me, please, we'll make our way to Ravenclaw Tower. Make sure you stay close to the group, I don't want anyone getting separated on the moving staircases!"

The prefect led them out of the Great Hall and up several sets of stairs, the first years all marveling at their first real look at the inside of the castle. 

As they turned onto yet another staircase, PJ excitedly shook Phil's shoulder, pointing up to two large paintings on the wall. As Phil watched, several dogs in the painting of a field on the left ran across into the painting on the right of a witch stirring a potion. The witch shooed at the dogs as they ran underfoot, threatening to topple her cauldron, which left both boys snickering as they continued following the rest of the group. 

After what felt like more exercise than Phil had had in a while, their group finally made it to the top of the spiral staircase leading into the tower, and the bronze eagle that Phil had heard so much about from his father and brother came into view. He gulped, knowing that the door knocker may very well be his doom at Hogwarts, as it is intended to sort out those whose logical thinking truly belongs in the Ravenclaw common room. 

"Now, unlike other houses with passwords and secret entrances," the prefect began as the first years crowded around the top of the staircase, "our common room door can only be opened by solving a riddle. If for some reason you cannot solve the riddle for yourself, that means you'll have to wait until someone else comes along who can figure it out."

Several of the first years began murmuring to each other at that, most likely Muggleborns with less initial knowledge of the workings of the castle, Phil figured. He understood their worry, though; he could already pretty clearly imagine himself curled up asleep outside the door, using his backpack as a pillow because he couldn't solve the riddle and everyone else was already asleep for the night. 

"Keep in mind," the prefect continued over the hushed whispers of the first years, "the answers to the riddles don't always have to be the most clever things in the world. Often times you'll just have to think a little outside the box."

She took a step closer to the door, looking back over her shoulder at the younger students. 

"Now, let's see which of you can get us inside the common room tonight, hmm?"

As she approached the door, the first years watched in awe as the bronze eagle's beak opened and it began speaking in a slightly musical, soft tone. 

"I possess rivers, but no water. Forests, but no trees. Mountains, but no rocks. Cities, but no occupants," the eagle stated, the stairwell so quiet as everyone listened that Phil was almost afraid to breathe too loudly. "What am I?"

The older girl looked out over the first years, one eyebrow raised as she waited to see who was up to the challenge. 

Phil began wracking his brain, replaying the eagle's words in his mind, but it seemed PJ was about ten steps ahead of everyone else. 

"Oh!" he exclaimed, his voice echoing in the quiet stairwell and startling the other students still deep in thought. "You're a map, aren't you?" he said, rocking back and forth slightly on his toes, a slight smirk on his face. 

Rather than receiving a reply from the eagle, the door simply swung open to reveal the common room, and the prefect offered PJ a high five as the first years began filing through the open doorway. 

Phil, meanwhile, had quickly developed a new foolproof 'out-of-the-box' answer to the eagle's riddles that would ensure he never ended up sleeping on the stairs: always stick close to PJ.


End file.
